


Whump in progress: Whumptober 2019 Challenge

by Narkito



Series: It popped in my inbox: Prompts [7]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Accidental coda to 10x07, Angst, Danny!Whump, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grace!Whump, M/M, Steve!whump, whumptober challenge 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-12-15 00:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narkito/pseuds/Narkito
Summary: Whumptober prompt challenge, 21 prompts used, 7 stories. Danny and Steve comparing scars. Delirious!Steve. A missing Charlie. A hurt Danny. A hurt Grace with Steve as her guardian. A really sad Steve with Danny providing some comfort (set after 10x07). And an angsty Danno watching something awful.





	1. Scars + Pinned Down

**Author's Note:**

> So a friend is doing the challenge and I got <strike>jealous</strike> inspired. But there was no way I could do all 31, because I'm starting so late, so I mixed and matched the prompts in the hopes of doing them all within October. (Yeah, that ship has sailed! xD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mcdanno, established relationship, fluff. Checking out each other's scars.

“So, what’s this one from?” Steve asks nodding to Danny’s neck, just where it meets the shoulder.

“Wha—?” Danny asks eloquently.

Steve helps—not really—by pointing at it, nowhere near Danny’s visual field.

Danny strains his neck until he sort of realises what Steve means. “Oh, yeah, that’s actually two combined.”

“Really?” Steve drawls, not convinced.

“Really.”

Danny settles back into his pillow, making room for Steve to drape himself on top of him—not without a quiet ‘_umff_’ escaping his lips; Steve is no feathery weight.

“You know, babe, I’m gonna have to insist that it counts as two questions, so now you owe me either two scars or a deep truth.”

“Is that so?” Steve smirks, getting comfortable and personal against Danny’s chest.

“Yup,” Danny smiles back, knowingly.

“God,” Steve scrunches his eyes, making him look about 10 years younger —in Danny’s opinion. “I hate it when you do that.”

“What _ever_ do you mean, Steven? Pop the ‘p’?”

“Pop the—Yes, Danny, precisely that.”

“I don’t get it, you don’t seem that perturbed when other people do it, like, what is it about me, babe? Is that like your Neanderthal way of saying you love me? Or just plain OCD?

“No-no-no, don’t do that,” Steve nuzzles Danny’s neck and bites lightly over the faint scars on his shoulder, delighting on Danny’s shiver. Then adds, “explain these two, stop derailing the conversation.”

“You know what’s not fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. I have like a million tiny scars and they’re all stupid, and you just want me to tell you so you can later tell me about yours, which will all turn out to be from being heroic or something.”

Steve shakes him lightly. “C’mon it’s not a competition.”

“Yeah, right,” Danny rolls his eyes, but relents and clears his throat to tell Steve about his little faded scar.

“So, I was in Jersey, I must have been, I dunno, Grace hadn’t been born yet, so 22 I guess, kinda fresh out of college, but already a cop, if that makes sense.”

Steve shakes his head no, but because he doesn’t say a word, Danny takes it as permission not to comment on it and further deflect the question.

“So here we were, a couple of buddies from the station and I, pinned down in a rundown shed, when it happened, Matty appeared out of nowhere and just shot me.”

“Wait, what? Matty—

“Yeah, Matty! You think you’re competitive, you have nothing on my little brother—

“No, stop,” Steve scoots away, leaning on his elbow to take a better look at Danny. “Paintball? That scar over there is from paintball?”

Danny rolls his eyes heavenward and fixes them on the ceiling. “Alright, here we go, go ahead and mock me.”

“No, of course not, I mean, how could I,” Steve babbles, trying and failing to cover his amused smile.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, get it out of your system, you’re not going to get another chance.”

“Aw, c’mon, Danno, don’t do that, you know that when you set down rules like that, I have to break them, if only to keep tradition going.”

Danny lands his eyes on Steve’s beaming smile and has a fleeting thought about how lucky he is, and how beautiful Steve looks when he smiles like that. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Steve smiles and leans in for a kiss, which to Danny’s surprise turns out to be just a chaste peck on the lips.

“You only explained one.”

“What?”

“The scars, you only explained one.”

“OCD, babe, seriously.”

Steve arches his eyebrows.

“Fine, Grace was a fussy baby, who then got even fussier once she started teething, those little dots over here,” Danny taps one finger lightly over his scar, beaming proudly “they are a perfect match to Gracie’s baby teeth, she clamped down on me like a shark thirsty for blood!”

Steve thumps his head against Danny’s shoulder and just laughs.


	2. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's sick. Danny's pissed off, with good reason. (Steve!Whump, established relationship, some angst).
> 
> *bonus* unintended alternative prompts filled here: "wake up!", fever and infection.

Steve’s eyes are drooping, and his thoughts are turning muddy; one second he’s staring at an expansive blue sky and the next he’s blinking against the blue brightness of what he can only assume is a penlight.

“Hey, buddy, here, hold on to this,” the man on the other side of the light says, thrusting something hot and heavy into his hands. “Don’t pass out, don’t shoot me, and don’t die.” The man grunts the last part as he tightens something on Steve’s leg.

Steve on his part almost rolls his eyes to the back of his head from the pain.

_A tourniquet_, he realises, as he tightens the rifle to his chest, he’s not sure whether it’s his or the paramedic’s, but he couldn’t have lost his own, he doesn’t remember ever letting it go.

“You’re doing okay, babe, you’re doing okay,” the paramedic soothes as he does quick work with his hands, pulling bandages and ripping packets with his teeth. Something stings and his breath hitches, and before he can even fully form what he’s feeling, the paramedic is already coaching him to breathe through it, but the pain rips his mind from his body and the pain goes sit in the back as his mind floats untethered through the ether of memory.

The sun catches on the paramedic’s eyes and as he adjusts his helmet something sparkles within Steve, the man kneeling at his side feels familiar somehow, like a well-worn sweater, or the sweet relief of freshly laundered bed sheets, like salty sea water and too hot coffee in the morning. He closes his eyes to chase the feeling, the familiarity, the soft curl of blond hair at the nape of—

“No, no, eyes open.” The man slaps him sharply on his cheek a couple of times. “C’mon, talk to me, McGarrett, what you doing all the way out here, babe?”

Steve tries to speak and it feels like he’s spitting dust, he forces himself to swallow a couple of times, in an effort to soothe his throat, the tip of his tongue still sore from the remembered burn.

“Yeah, I know, buddy, you’ve been here a while.” The paramedic pats his chest and then runs his knuckles back and forth just hard enough that it’s impossible for Steve to ignore. “Hang on a second, I’m calling for back-up.”

Steve blinks against the sun and tries to focus on the man, a blond stocky guy with a huge red cross band on his arm. Is that still regulation? Weren’t they shooting even medical personnel now?

He’s about to answer his own questions when his mind and the pain find each other again, and he comes to the crashing conclusion that he aches everywhere, and something is definitely broken somewhere below his right knee. He slowly peels a hand from his rifle and explores his thigh, bending ever so slightly to reach past his knee, softly hitting the paramedic’s arm instead.

“Hey, hey, no, stay still, I’ve got this, you need to keep an eye out for unfriendlies, you’re the one with the gun, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve half whispers, half grunts.

“Okay, babe, I’ve packed your wound already, but you’re going to be in a lot of pain in a few minutes, so I have to stick ya with a needle, you ever tried morphine before?”

Steve nods and the paramedic swiftly takes something out of his medical bag and uncaps it. It’s like a small tube of toothpaste with a syringe on the capped end. It looks suspiciously like a syrette—except—they haven’t been used since World War II.

Steve’s about to make a comment on it, when the sweet heatwave of the opiate hits his veins and swallows him whole. 

“Good stuff, huh?” the mand jokes as he uncaps a second syrette and sticks him with it on the other leg. Less than a second later he feels like he’s being pulled down to the centre of the earth and several red and blue lights flood his vision.

“Wha—?” Steve struggles to coordinate his mind with his mouth. He’s being moved, fast, probably in a helicopter, but there’s too much light, there’s too much heat. Something’s wrong. “No, what are you doing? Stop.”

He struggles against the heaviness of the rifle across his chest, yet still manages to swat the paramedic away and then hit himself on the face, finding something plastic over his nose and mouth. He tries to get it off, tries to scream, to stop them, to get free, but a hand stops him from trying any further.

“No, babe, you have to keep it on, you’re going to be fine, just hang on a little, we’re almost there.”

It’s the paramedic again, his soft hair in disarray and most certainly not regulation, Steve stares at him like he’s staring at the sun, warm light on his face, but already dreading what’s going to happen once he loses the contest.

The paramedic smiles tiredly and says something, running his knuckles against Steve’s chest, but the words get lost on the way, so he closes his eyes and lets the earth’s core claim him. The ground shakes beneath him and he’s engulfed in heated darkness that gets hotter as gravity pulls him closer to the earth’s heart. As he descends, a set of drums beats to the rhythm of his own heart. And then, it stops. Everything stops.

\--

_“Babe? Steve. Steven. C’mon open your eyes.”_

“Mmm.”

“No, c’mon, open your eyes,” the paramedic squeezes his hand, “it’s time to wake up.”

\--

His body is slow to shake off the effect of the painkillers, a few fleeting images flying by his eyes until they become a blur. His hand gets squeezed again, harder, a bit more urgent this time.

For a second he’s confused, but then his brain kicks into gear and he takes a deep breath.

“Danno,” he says, releasing the breath he had just taken. A distant part of his brain welcomes the coolness of the room, like he had been overheating before.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Danny leans over Steve and ever so softly brushes his hair off his forehead.

“Wha—?” Steve tries to ask what happened but he interrupts himself with a yawn.

“You awake yet?”

Steve takes into his surroundings, the bags under Danny’s eyes, and his dishevelled look. He gets a chance to take a closer look as Danny leans over and helps him drink some water.

“You don’t need a shave yet,” Steve notes, in lieu of actually asking how long they’ve been there.

Danny leans back into the plastic chair next to Steve’s bed, smiling.

“Good, very observant of you,” Danny retorts. Too late Steve realises Danny’s was not a fond smile. “You fully back into the side of the living yet?”

Steve nods, hating the way his hair scratches against the hospital sheets and gives Danny a small smile, but Danny remains inscrutable. A few long seconds go by and Steve sighs inwardly but asks anyway. “Am I in trouble?”

“Are you in trouble? _Are you_—I don’t know babe, how old are you? Thirty-four? Thirty-five? Old enough to be responsible for your own health any way. Right? _Right_. So, why? _Why?!_ You think you are above and beyond the use of antibiotics? Hmm?”

“Danny, I—”

“No. You know what? Just no.” Danny points with his finger. “Whatever you were going to say, save it. Now that I know you’re going to live,” he gets up and starts gathering his things, “I’m going home. You fucking jerk.”

“Danny, please, wait, no. Stop!” Steve almost yells, as he struggles with his bandaged leg and foot to get out of the bed. Too late he realises he’s hooked up to an IV that’s not on a walking pole. His arm stings, but he didn’t rip a vein open, though he might have irritated the living shit of his skin.

He covers his face and a mixture of dizziness and remorse plops him back to the bed, a split second later his foot screams in agony.

“They had to drain it,” Danny says, practically whispers, from the door’s threshold, where he’s still holding the doorknob. “You had a really bad fever, and the infection had reached your veins,” he says as he walks back into the room, his phone and keys in one hand, a worn-out sweater in the other. “And you ran on it for like ten hours, so they had to drain it, well, they lanced it and then drained it.”

“Danno, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Danny scoffs bitterly. “That’s kind of like the problem, babe, you didn’t. And you often don’t.” He sighs. “And I didn’t either.”

“Oh, Danny, I—

Steve gets cut off by the pang of pain that shoots up his leg when he shifts the weight on his bad foot.

Danny sighs yet again and sits down on Steve’s bed, biting his lip, obviously torn up about the whole thing, and Steve gets it, okay? He does, Danny is a bundle of worries about 90% of the time, and he just went way over the line, _again_, and truly scared him this time, which is not something he purposefully wanted to do.

Danny stops chewing on his lip and stares at the ceiling for a couple more seconds, until he seems to reach an answer.

“Okay, here’s what we are going to do;” Danny starts, pointing at Steve with his phone, “you’re going back into bed, I’ll go chase down a nurse about getting you discharged, we get home, sleep for about twenty hours, I yell at you for the next four, and then you make it up to me, big time.” He emphasises the greatness of the making up part with his arms. Steve is ready to get him the moon if that item alone would suffice.

“And then,” Danny continues, deflating and sinking further down on the bed, not making contact with Steve’s eyes, “I get you a frequent flier card for the hospital and we do this all over again in a couple of months.”

Steve puckers his lips, half ashamed, half hurt by Danny’s words.

“Would you believe me if I said I won’t do anything like this again?”

Danny chuckles. “No.”

It’s Steve’s turn to chew on his lower lip. They’ve got this down to a routine, one that clearly isn’t working for Danny anymore. And neither for Steve if he’s being honest with himself.

“Okay,” Steve says, “I’ll show you instead.”

Danny straightens his back. “You’ll show me?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you.”

Danny blows a soft whistle through his teeth. “He’ll show me, he says, he’ll show me. I mean, on the one hand you are better with actions than you’re with words.” Steve nods. “On the other, you fail, we’re done, and I have to transfer back to HPD, and my worst nightmares all come true at once—

—Danny!”

“—I mean, if you die, I get to be big boss, so it’s not all bad, you know. That’s about fifty to seventy-five percent chance that I end up winning something.”

Steve shakes his head, trust Danny to come up with some fucked up logic.

“So,” Danny meanders again, and Steve’s chest hurts, because he did this; Danny should be loud and boisterous, not hesitant to invade his life and privacy and take up residence like he’s always lived there. “What were you thinking? Why are you so averse to go see the doctor?”

Steve groans, audibly enough that Danny turns wide eyed to look at him, telepathically saying ‘_are you truly a five-year-old?_’

“No, don’t look at me like that, I mean, I owe you an explanation, but—ugh.” Steve scrubs his face with both hands. “Look, I don’t have anything good to say, okay? It was stupid and avoidable, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I knew I had an infection of sorts, but I thought I could push through and then we caught a case and I just blocked it—”

“You blocked it?” Danny scowls.

“Compartmentalise, I dunno, I just forgot about it, I figured I could go to the clinic tomorrow, get it looked at, ice it, I don’t know. It got bad fast and then I was too sick to do something about it. It was stupid, Danno, I fully realise how stupid it was, _I was_—still am! I’m sorry.” Steve hangs his head defeated.

Danny rolls his eyes and finally drops his things, letting them flop onto the mattress; the Camaro’s keys bounce onto Steve’s pillow.

“Look, Steven, I’m only saying this once, so pay attention.” Steve raises his head, making sure to pay full attention. “I can’t lose any more partners. I thought you were bleeding internally, or something else equally terrible, and I had somehow missed it.”

Steve kicks himself mentally. Meka, and before him, Danny’s partner in Jersey. He had read everyone’s file after things with Hesse had died down, and even though it didn’t mention it directly, he was well versed in reports and the bending of the truth for the benefit of officers to understand, from that brief paragraph, that Danny had tragically lost his partner in Jersey.

Steve reaches out and holds Danny’s hand, hoping it gets across the point, that he knows, he _understands_ what is like to lose someone and feel guilty about it.

“Look, babe,” Danny squeezes Steve’s hand back, “all I’m asking is you don’t make promises you can’t keep, okay? Think you can do that?”

Steve nods suddenly choked up. Yeah, he can do that, starting now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll keep on working on the challenge, but at my own pace. There's been a big upheaval in my country and I'm still processing what's happened and what's to come.
> 
> Comments are <3


	3. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go to the beach, survive Charlie's tantrum, feed him, love him, lose him in public. No, _wait!_
> 
> (Danny!Whump this time)
> 
> *bonus alternative prompt: lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Missing child
> 
> I used the alternative prompt list for Whumptober, because nothing was sparking joy from the original list this week.

“Okay, Charlie, time to go.” Danny turns back to their table, clapping his hands, more than ready to go back home; Charlie had had a screaming fit that was still ringing in his ears, and he was exhausted. Except, Charlie was not where he left him—not thirty seconds ago—sitting on a chair finishing his ice-cream.

Looking around his immediate vicinity does not reveal a toothy smiled five-year-old (and a half!) either, and Danny frowns. This better not be the start of temper tantrum number three of the day. 

“Charlie?” He asks around, slightly crouching to look under the table, but not there either.

When he stands up again, he realises Charlie’s toys are still on the table. He looks around again, letting his eyesight stretch further into the bushes and the trees and the freaking jungle beyond.

“Hey, Charlie!” He yells a little louder, turning to look at the bushes that are close by, assuming Charlie is once again playing a unilateral version of hide-and-seek.

But nothing.

A dog barks behind him, and Danny turns sharply, _hoping _Charlie is once again breaking the rule of petting a stranger’s dog. Eddie is fine and encouraged, all other dogs are basically banned. Rules need to be as black and white as possible with Charlie, otherwise, he always seems to find a work around or a different way to interpret them, usually the version that suits him best.

There are kids, there’s a dog, a woman with a small bag and sunglasses, farther behind them a man talking on a phone, but no sign of Charlie. Sweat breaks out on his palms and back.

_Bathroom_, his mind supplies, so he turns sharply on his heel and walks inside the restaurant, eating up the distance to the men’s room in a few seconds. Not even bothering if there’s another person on the other side of the door and pushing it open with a lot more strength than needed.

“CHARLIE!” Danny roars, making a guy from the urinals jump. Without looking at him Danny starts checking the stalls, to make sure there’s no tiny dinosaur trainers peeking from under those doors.

“Hey,” once he’s done he establishes intense eye contact with urinal guy, “have you seen a cute blond kid, yee high,” he motions with his hand up to his own waist, “blue shorts, striped t-shirt, also blue.”

The man widens his eyes, fumbling to close his zipper, and shakes his head.

Danny storms out of the man’s bathroom and barely hesitates to burst into the ladies’ bathroom and shout his son’s name followed by the same quick description. The two women in there go from panicked to understanding in less than a second, but still, no one has seen Charlie gone by, Danny hesitates to check the stalls and one of the women immediately reassures him she and the other woman besides her are the only ones there. He remembers to mumble a thanks behind his back as he gets out of their business

He traces his steps back to the patio area of the restaurant and looks at the scene, no, _their table_ again; Charlie’s toys are near his plate, but his backpack is gone.

_Shit_.

Maybe he went on a “mission” as he called them. But where? Other than dinosaurs, which Charlie had emphatically declared extinct from this park (because the big bones had been moved for a new film some studio was working on), Danny’s not sure what other interest occupies Charlie’s mind these days. They haven’t hung out as much as he would’ve liked, with work being crazier than usual and being down two people, as they still haven’t found a replacement for Kono and Chin.

“C’mon Charlie boy, where are you?” Danny whispers to himself as he starts stuffing toys into his own backpack automatically, looking around the place, beyond the tree line and trying to remember what lies beyond, into the hike trail and on the other side, to the parking lot. As soon as he’s done putting their stuff together, his mind bolts into action again and he jogs to the bushes near the table and has a quick look around. There’s some litter stuck in the protruding roots of a nearby tree, but no tiny tracks that signal Charlie was just here.

“Hey, Charlie? You here? You win at hide-and-seek, but I’m getting scared here, so I need you to come out, okay? We’ll go get a stuffy from the gift shop, hey buddy?”

Nothing but the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.

“Dammit.”

He takes a deep breath trying to stay calm, ignoring the way his brain turns fuzzy and there’s a scream lodged within his chest. Where else would Charlie go? How long was he not paying extremely close attention? Five minutes? Thirty seconds? But where would Charlie go?!

He walks out of the bushes as if in a daze, and it suddenly occurs to him Charlie isn’t hiding, he might have been taken on purpose and he’s just wasted precious minutes being only a parent, when he should have been a parent and a cop. It’s like a bucket of ice water gets dumped over his head.

He fumbles his phone but manages to dial the number on the first try, and Steve picks up in less than ten seconds.

“Hey, Danno, how’s my favourite—

—Steve, I…” He can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

From miles away, Danny can feel the shift in Steve’s stance, like he straightens in his chair, ready for everything. “Danny? What’s wrong?”

“Charlie,” he manages to get out, and that seems to open the possibility for other words to come, “is missing. Charlie’s missing, I can’t find him, Steve.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” Danny hears some rustling over the line, “you guys at Waimanalo?”

Danny swallows thickly, trying to organise his thoughts, this nightmare of a day. “No, we came to the Kualoa Ranch, Charlie was—he wanted—it doesn’t matter. The ranch, Steve, the ranch.”

“Okay, Danno, I’ll be there in twenty. Now listen to me, I need you to flag down a staff member, a manager, a supervisor, anything, okay? Do you see anyone wearing a badge or a staff t-shirt near you?”

Right, follow protocol. Inform local authorities and immediately call law enforcement, followed by the National Crime Information Centre and then The Missing Child Centre in Hawaii.

“I’m at the restaurant, Steve, I’m going inside and getting in touch with everybody.”

“Okay, good,” Steve says, using his victim is in shock voice, as he steps into his truck, “give them Charlie’s description, I’ll get in touch with dispatch and send the closest units to you, okay?”

Danny nods and too late says “yes” into the microphone, already dashing back inside to the counter asking for a manager.

The next hour spirals by in a never-ending blur of equal parts despair and hope.

Steve barrels into the restaurant exactly twenty-five minutes after they talked. The closest units beat him by only ten minutes and by then, the whole staff has been advised about a missing five and half year-old, blond hair, blue eyes, 3 feet 9 inches, blue shorts, blue striped t-shirt, blue canvas backpack, dinosaur trainers. A Maile Amber Alert has gone through with the same description.

Once Danny sees Steve go through the doors a part of him thinks ‘this is good, Steve will do anything for my boy’ and a different part can’t help to be angry at Steve for taking so long and walking through those doors without Charlie laughing in his arms.

Thirty-five minutes after Steve has arrived, not much has changed, a nice contingent of police men and staff are now combing through the park, and Danny imagines a good portion of TSA agents are discreetly looking at the children queueing with their parents to catch a flight and seeing if they match the alert.

“Danny, we’ll find him real soon,” Steve gives him an encouraging smile and massages his neck.

Danny wants to hold on to those precious words as much as he wants to chew them out and spit them, or maybe swallow them raw and hope they soon enough become poison, so he doesn’t have to live with himself if they don’t find Charlie soon.

The door to the inside of the restaurant opens so suddenly, for a moment Danny imagines a cartoonish hole on the wall beside it.

“Detective Williams, we found him!” A sweaty staff member shouts, handing him a park radio.

His mind goes blank as soon as a “DANNO!” emerges from the tiny, tiny radio. His legs turn to jelly and he lets gravity do all the work as he finds himself sitting on the floor, listening to the dulcet tones of his son’s voice ring through his body like a spark that rekindles his soul.

Hours later, the three of them are back home, along with a huge stuffed dinosaur that’s an inch taller than Charlie, courtesy of the Kualoa Ranch. His son is already tucked in and half asleep besides said dinosaur, whose name is obviously “Dino”, Danny closes the door behind him and joins Steve at the couch.

Steve has—mercifully—kept the lights off.

Danny thinks he’s going to say something obvious, like “thank you” or “I love you for keeping me alive”, but a sob comes out, followed by another, and another. He scrunches up his face and covers it, ashamed for feeling this way, for losing his son in the first place.

Steve, once again, scoops him up, and holds him close to his heart, hugging so tight he’s not sure why he can’t breathe, if it’s the relief or the hug.

After a good minute goes by, Steve, ever so tenderly kisses the top of his head and says, “me too, buddy, me too.”


	4. Stab wound + Field medicine + Bleeding out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accident: unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury. 
> 
> (Danny!Whump; some description of blood and injuries, on the same level as the show).

“A little more to the left,” Steve says, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement.

Danny grunts as he moves the bracket of their brand-new curtains _a little more to the left_, and takes a deep breath, he knows Steve is just being annoying, but this is a two-person game, and thus Danny’s refusing to be annoyed. It also weighs on his mind what their HPD assigned therapist had said: it takes _two parties_ to have a fight, and he’s very much trying not to have one, he doesn’t want their work stress to become relationship stress. He wants to succeed in couple’s therapy, okay? Or at least be more successful at it than Steve is.

Steve clicks his tongue in consideration of the new position of the (fucking) bracket and Danny’s eye twitches. Fine, he will allow himself to be a _little bit annoyed_.

(Okay, so maybe therapy is working, just not to a hundred percent).

Danny turns to say, “_Are you for real?_” Aiming to only half raising to the bait, hoping for good banter to come out of it, but he slips from the stool instead, letting out a muted yelp as he falls with a loud thump on his side, half on the ground; half on top of the new curtains, the rod, the curtain brackets and the toolbox.

“Danno!” Steve gasps as he tries—a fraction of a second too late—to break Danny’s fall.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Danny complains, barely moving. “Shit, Steve, my arm, did I break it?”

Steve takes a quick look at Danny and, honestly? It’s hard to tell. He’s entangled with the curtains and laying on his side, back to Steve; at first glance his arm is probably under him or in front, but if Danny isn’t sure—

“Okay, it’s okay, give it a second, I’m going to roll you first, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Danny hisses, moving his legs, tensing up to his neck and relaxing almost immediately.

“Your neck hurts?” Steve asks, almost sounding like a warning, moving faster into clearing the floor so he can roll Danny off all the junk he fell over.

“No, my arm, my shoulder, Jesus, I don’t know, everything is on fire.”

“Okay, buddy, here we go,” Steve answers, rolling Danny to take a better look and—

“Oh…_shit_.”

“Steve.” Is Danny’s only answer as he turns white as a sheet, grabbing his arm at elbow level, where on the inside there’s a protruding screwdriver, handle shiny and innocent-looking, not even bloodied yet.

Not a second after, before Steve can react and put pressure on the wound, Danny’s arm becomes a fountain of blood revelling a deep cut from his elbow down to about halfway his lower left arm.

“Danny, come on, sit up.” Danny’s eyes droop and Steve practically drags and sits him up himself, pinching the brachial artery a good inch over the wound. Danny moans in pain.

Once Danny rests his back against the wall, Steve takes Danny’s hand and positions it over the brachial artery.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, knowing full well how uncomfortable and downright painful it must feel. “Keep pressure.”

Steve doesn’t even have a chance to stand, before Danny removes his hand and stares at his arm as it starts bleeding profusely again.

“Oh fuck, Steve, that's too much blood.” Danny comments with worrying detachment. “I don't feel so good.”

Steve grabs Danny’s hand again and forces him to pinch his own artery. “Shut up and press this, I need to get the kit.”

Steve jumps into action without looking back (Danny either snaps out of it or doesn’t), and runs into the kitchen, kneeling in front of the cupboard, opening the lower door so wide and fast, he almost takes it off its hinges. He retrieves the good first aid kit, based on the improved version he used when he was deployed, and then rushes back to Danny’s side.

Blood slips through Danny’s fingers, warm and thick until it saturates the curtain fabric under him, a second later Steve appears on his side, carrying a big blue backpack.

“Steve, babe, I’m going out.”

Steve opens the backpack and takes an emergency trauma dressing out, quickly ripping the package with both hands and applying the dressing to Danny’s cut wound, going with the bandage over it twice, before twisting the it right over the wound to apply further pressure into it.

Danny moans in pain, his eyes glassing over.

“Babe,” he whispers, crumpling against the wall.

“No-no-no-no! Stay awake, you got to stay awake, I know it hurts, I know it sucks, but you have to stay with me.” Steve pleads, finishing the bandage and securing the hooks on the end.

“Danny, c’mon, talk to me, man, call me stupid, call me a dum-dum for teasing you with the curtain stuff.”

Steve moves fast around Danny’s arms—he hadn’t even tried to keep pressure on it once Steve went searching for the first aid kit. He stabilises the screwdriver with rolls of gauze and bandages around it, securing it in place and cringing when he jostles it too much, not wanting to hurt Danny any more than he already is.

Danny sighs, “it makes you a jerk, not a dum-dum.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Danno.”

Danny sighs again, hitching his breath. And then his breath hitches again. His right hand scrunches up the curtain fabric under it, but it’s weak and uncoordinated, Steve can tell Danny’s trying hard not to intervene with Steve’s first aid, which is taking a toll on Danny, on top of the wound, the blood loss, the shock. He gives Danny about a minute before he starts shaking. Steve redoubles his efforts.

“I’m almost done, baby, we’re almost through.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Steve finishes off the second bandage and carefully lays Danny’s arm back on his lap. “You going to pass out on me?”

“No.” Danny is quick to answer, an effort to reassure Steve, but then, “I don’t know,” Danny shrugs weakly, “I think I’m crashing.”

“Yeah, don’t do that, let me get an ambulance here first.” Steve whips his phone out and puts his free hand on Danny’s chest, needing the assurance that Danny’s breathing and alive, slightly bruised and cut up, but alive, as he calls 911.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for keep on reading even though I'm waaaaay off the challenge's terms by now.


	5. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in early S2. Danny misses a call from school but Steve is there to save the day. Sort of. 
> 
> (Not sure who's getting more whumped in this one, Grace, Steve or Danny. No icky or gory descriptions, though! No angst, some fluff.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Whumpcember! \0/

As soon as the judge dismisses them from the room and goes back to her chambers, Danny checks his phone, hoping Five-0 has stayed out of trouble in his absence—though he doubts it, their first anniversary of the task force is coming up, and even though Steve has tamed down remarkably, he’s still too much of a SEAL for the general public to handle. Some days he’s even too much for Danny to handle.

His phone’s screen shows four missed calls. Two from Steve. One private number. One from dispatch. Okay, not bad, chaos and mayhem from Five-0 often translates into two dozen calls at the very least, and one of those from the governor or his secretary.

_‘So,’_ he thinks, as he exits the building, ‘_two from Steve, huh?’_

He can't help but feel some endearment at the thought of Steve already missing him. The goof. He knew Danny was going to spend most of the morning in court, waiting to be called as a witness for a couple of cases, but maybe he was trying his luck, it’s not like Danny hasn’t done the same, even by showing up unannounced at Steve’s. Just trying his luck, hoping for a few more hours with him. The thought stirs up a lot more than just endearment.

Danny tap-tap-taps into the screen until he's calling back. Hoping for Steve not to be in the middle of a case. He could use some quality time with him right about now.

It takes only three rings for him to answer. Good.

“Danno,” Steve says, his voice suspiciously neutral, “hey, hi.”

Danny mentally narrows his eyes.

“Hey yourself, you called?”

“Yeah, yes, umm.” There's some background noise that Danny can't quite decipher, but it doesn't sound like Steve's back at HQ. He takes the keys out of his pocket, getting a weird vibe that makes him want to run to his car and put on the siren.

He moderates himself by only walking faster instead.

“Okay, so, I want to start by saying that everything is fine and that everyone—

“Steeeve?” Danny’s steps falter as his heart leaps out of his chest and back. What the heck did he do this time?

“And I do mean everyone, okay? _Everyone is fine_. We're okay, we're good. Nothing terrible happened.”

“Steven," Danny warns, fumbling his car keys and losing them under the car. “Just tell me already.” He commands as he stares at his feet, divided between wanting to hit the Camaro’s roof and fetch his keys back.

“Umm,” Steve hesitates one more time and Danny is ready to smack him on the back of his pretty head. Steve must sense some of this, because he finally continues with actual information. “Gracie's school called. _She's-with-me-she's-fine!_” And then he adds, slower, “but she's about to get stitches.”

Out of all the possibilities that had swirled in his head, stitches are very low on his list. Danny’s stunned and relieved all at once.

"Where?" He asks, dazed for a second. 

"On her knee."

“_What?_”

“Umm,” there’s some chatter on the other side of the line, Steve must be covering the microphone, and then he says, “her right knee.”

_“Give me a break!_ No, you moron, which _hospital?!_”

“Oh! Queens, the school said they had insurance here.”

“Queens, okay, I’m on my way.” Danny combs his hair back, letting it slip between his fingers and tugging at the end. “Be there in about twenty minutes. Put her on, I want to speak with my baby girl.”

“Oh, umm,” Steve’s caught-in-headlights voice comes back. “I’m not allowed in with her, I’m not her kin…” He trails off.

Danny feels his blood boil, but he takes a deep breath instead. “You left my baby to get stitches alone?! How the—_why—_out of all the times not to flash your badge and muscle through red tape! You get in there and you hold my baby’s hand as she gets stitches, Steven!”

Steve doesn’t even bother to answer, and Danny can feel his ‘_I have a mission_’ face from this side of the conversation just fine, he can see him striding through the ER taking no prisoners, barricading himself if necessary, with Gracie in her room.

He puts his phone away, adrenaline sizzling through his muscles. He kneels on the hot pavement and retrieves his keys from under the car as he releases a long cleansing breath. Steve has—inadvertently—made him work so much on his self-control it’s actually getting easier each time to find his balance back.

“Hawaii works in mysterious ways,” he whispers to himself as he gets into the car.

*

As Danny approaches the curtained area where he’s been pointed to, he hears his daughter’s sweet voice, reaffirming she’s alive and well.

“Do you have stitches, uncle Steve?”

“Yes, I do, tons.”

“Really—DANNO!”

“Monkey!” Danny bends at his waist and hugs her precious daughter as she lays on the gurney, certain that if he hadn’t, she would’ve jumped and aggravate her injuries, whatever they are. “How are you, my lovely ray of sunshine, mmm? What happened?” He kisses her hair and gives her a quick once over, looking for blood, or torn clothes or something.

“I was skipping rope with Kathy and Alani, and Bruce pushed me, and my knee wouldn’t stop bleeding.”

“Oh, no, that must have hurt a lot.” Danny empathises. Grace’s eyes go round and wet as she nods. “So, how many stitches did you get?”

She holds up two fingers, her lower lip trembling slightly.

“Oh, wow, two stitches, you were so brave, baby girl.” Danny engulfs her in a big hug again. “You deserve a thousand kisses for such display of bravery and courage, right, babe?” He tries to include Steve, but the lug doesn’t answer fast enough, so Danny turns slightly to address him directly. Through it all, he has remained a dutiful statue of stoic vigilance by Gracie’s side. Standing at attention, stiff as a board and positioned just so to shut down any unwelcome guests in a heartbeat.

Danny’s heart softens at the sight. Poor big, bad, Navy SEAL. The experience is probably ranking at a 12 out of 10 in the fear factor for Steve right now. His eyes are as big as Gracie’s were.

Before he can say something, or at least tell him to stand down, Gracie tugs on his side.

“Danno, can I get something from the gift shop?”

“Can you get—_of course_ you can get something. What do you want?”

“Umm, I don’t know just yet.” She smiles thoughtfully and Danny feels that tug at the bottom of his stomach that lets him know he’s wrapped around his daughter’s pinkie finger (twice) and there’s nothing he could possibly ever do about it. Not that he wants to.

Lost in his adoration for his own daughter, Gracie has to clear her throat to get his attention back.

“Danno, uncle Steve was also very brave, can we get something for him too?”

Steve, if anything, stands up straighter.

Danny smiles. “Yes, whatever you guys want, but first,” he turns to Steve fully this time, not expecting him to feel part of this moment beyond guarding duties, so, hoping to remedy that, Danny loops a finger on his belt and tugs him closer. “Steve gets a super special hug for taking care of my whole life. Come ‘ere.” He gives one final tug and Steve relents, bending over Danny’s shoulder as Danny hugs him fiercely, trying to convey in that one hug all that he can’t really say in front of Grace.

It must come across—somehow—as Steve relaxes completely and turns off his SEAL aura of destruction, managing to squeeze in between Danny and Grace and turning the whole thing into a super group hug. The goof. _Their goof._


	6. Tear-stained + Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Doris’ death, Steve calls Mary to chat and invite her over for Christmas and Mary blows him off.
> 
> (A lot of Steve whump, some fluff).

“Yo, babe!” Danny greets as he slams the door shut, mentally preparing for the mini rant that it will surely entail, from either Steve or Junior. Lord knows they can both fuss at his apparent trespasses like they’re getting paid for it. Though he dislikes it more coming from Junior than Steve if he’s being honest, the occasional sirs amid all the short-tempered bossiness really throws him off.

The house, however, is oddly silent. 

“Steve?” He calls again, balancing the takeout and beers, making a beeline for the kitchen. He immediately notes there’s a sticky note on the fridge saying Junior won’t be coming home today (written in Tani’s handwriting, mind you). He smiles at that, lucky kids; to be young and in love again. 

He gives a quick look around the kitchen and everything else seems to be in place. Inspecting a bit further reveals the door to the lanai is unlocked, and well, he really hopes Steve didn’t go for a swim with that arm. Danny has caught him several times looking forlornly at the expanse of the sea, but he’s pretty sure it still hurts, enough that he hasn’t been swimming or doing sporty things as much as before. Yet, hell will freeze before Steve admits that out loud. 

Walking around the lanai and garage yields no Super SEAL, so he makes quick work of the stairs, noting Steve’s junk room is open. 

It gives him pause. 

Steve may call it the “junk room”, but in reality, it’s John McGarret’s old room, which Steve, even after a decade, can’t bring himself to clear out, nor occupy in any meaningful manner. Danny had given up on it after that first year of knowing each other, and quite frankly even forgotten about it for handful of months at a time, or more, like the whole past year. 

Danny sighs before knocking on the door frame. 

“Babe, you in here?” 

The question is not necessary, but it gives Steve plenty of warning to build his defence walls back up. (Yet another thing that bears down on Danny, Steve has never seemed so vulnerable as after coming back from DC. Danny’s afraid that asking anything outside the scope of work will finally break him down, and it scares him.)

The room looks about the same as usual, with the exception of Steve’s legs sticking out from the other side of the bed frame, sitting on the dusty carpet, a photo album in his lap. 

Turns out even with a warning, there’s nothing Steve (or anybody for that matter) can do about red-rimmed eyes in less than thirty seconds.

Danny plops down unceremoniously next to Steve and spies on the photos the album is open in. He sees a toothy little boy not older than Charlie and a little blonde girl smiling at the camera: Steve and Mary. Out on a hike or something, going by the greenery on the background. 

Steve sniffles and clears his throat. But instead of words a strangled sob comes out, which he promptly swallows back down.

“You guys were cute,” Danny comments, hoping to get the ball started. “Now? Not so much.” 

Steve chuckles wetly and sniffles again. His lower lip wobbles and two fat tears roll down his cheeks. 

“Oh, babe, come here.” Danny extends his arm behind Steve and hugs him to his side, squeezing hard. Steve turns his face and tries (really tries) to hide under Danny’s chin (but, how could he? It’s not possible even if he were a little kid, like in the photograph).

They sit together like that for a while, Danny alternates between musing the back of Steve’s hair and rubbing his back.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve takes some distance, enough that he can see Danny’s face as he speaks.

“I called Mary,” Steve rasps out.

“Okay.” He elongates the last syllable. “And?”

“She’s not coming for Christmas… or any other holiday for that matter, not anytime soon.”

Danny’s eyebrows shoot up and he has to blink a few times, as his eyes fill up involuntarily. 

“What? Why?” He whispers, dreading the answer.

Steve clears his throat yet again. “She—umm… she thinks I’m a bad influence.”

Danny’s heckles rise. “Excuse me?”

Steve’s face scrunches up in pain. “Not in so many words. Well, in a lot more words, in vivid detail. She—umm-she—sh—sh—

Steve burrows deeper into Danny’s collar, holding on for dear life, digging his fingers into Danny’s sides and every other part he can reach. Danny holds him back just as desperately through the wrenching sobs, rocking slightly in place.

“Jesus, Steven. What happened?” 

Predictably, there’s no other answer than Steve’s hitched breaths, followed by more sobbing and whimpering. Danny feels wet warmth spread through the front and shoulder of his shirt and his eyes fill up again, only this time, tears do manage to spill out, landing on top of Steve’s head. Steve’s a mess; has been for a while, but it hasn’t been as apparent and urgent as right this moment. What the heck did Mary say to him?

This being one of those moments when there’s no other way but through, Danny rides it out by hugging Steve close to his heart and putting his cheek on top of Steve’s head. The hair tickles his nose a little, so he drops a peck or two in there, showing affection and taming that unruly curl of Steve’s (now that he’s finally letting his hair grow beyond Navy regulation). 

After a few minutes, there’s a notable decrease in whimpers and an increase of deep breaths. Steve’s breathing himself back into control. With an air of finality, he sighs profoundly and detaches from Danny. Avoiding eye contact, he digs into one of his pockets, and comes up with a couple of tissues, blowing up his nose loudly. 

Danny takes a moment to dab at his own tears and recompose himself for his friend, knowing Steve he will want to avoid another cry jag, and it would be a lot harder doing that if Danny starts bawling his eyes out as well.

Steve leans back into the frame of the bed and pushes the photo album further away from him, bending his knees closer and leaning his elbows on them. A safe, self-contained space. 

Danny sits up as well, crossing his ankles and making himself as small as possible.

“She said,” Steve starts with a croak, “that this place brings her the worst memories and that after Doris’ death, a lot of shit got stirred up and,” Steve pauses, swallowing convulsively, “and that she’s worked hard to put her demons behind so…” He trails off, leaving Danny to complete the rest. 

“So,” Danny pushes his hands in between his thighs, desperate to hit something and shake a certain woman until her teeth rattle. “She’s not coming because you happen to be pretty much the only reminder of your parents’ deaths?” He chances a look at Steve besides him, who’s gone very quiet, running both his hands through his hair very methodically. “And you’re living in the house where John died, and it’s the same house where you guys went through Doris’ first death. So, no, she’s not coming, because this is one giant clusterfuck and she’s too…” Danny takes his hands from his legs and gesticulates into the air, trying to grasp the immensity of the McGarrett’s crap luck and the compassion he feels for both… orphans. And not another word comes to mind. He doesn’t know how finish Steve’s explanation after all.

_ God, when is the universe going to cut Steve some slack? Is that too much to ask? If Danny gives up his right fucking arm, would the universe listen and be nice to Steve for the rest of his life? _

Steve nods, unfocused and disjointed, lost in bad memories of his own.

“Oh, fuck, what else did she say?”

Steve chuckles mirthlessly. “That we’re always welcome to LA.”

“Oh. Good.” Danny frowns, letting the reality of what just happened sink in. Steve’s chosen family and his only remaining family are a whole ocean apart and even though he hasn’t been asked to choose, Steve’s wheels are turning into that direction anyway.

Steve comes out of his stupor with a sharp inhale. 

“You know what?” Steve drops his arms in between his legs. “At least Mary got away from it all, she has her own battles, I know, but in the end she’s the sane one. She’s the one with the guts to refuse one more visit, one more call, you know. To cut the toxic out of her life and not look back.” He sighs and looks away, “and well, maybe there’s a good reason I haven’t had children of my own, man, I mean, I would screw them up. That’s the real family business, sacrificing and hurting and getting tangled in murder, and because your own sacrifice isn’t enough, you end up sacrificing your children and then your children’s children. And so on.”

Danny clicks his tongue and looks away, annoyed by what Steve’s saying, but also, understanding of what he means. Danny himself has thought more than once (in the privacy of his own head) that not only does this family have bad luck, they are genetically programmed to be moths-to-fire when it comes to selfless sacrifice, and at some point, it becomes detrimental to their continued existence. 

“And no matter what,” Steve continues, “no one can say she hasn’t loved that little girl with all she has. Joanie is lucky to have her as her mum.” Slow tears roll down Steve’s cheeks, and he swipes them on the hem of his sleeve, sniffling a little. Danny’s stomach clenches at the sight, unable to reach into Steve and physically take all the pain away. 

“Okay, Steve, stop, please, just stop. I know life has dealt you a terrible hand, but you need to stop. It’s not your fault, okay?”

More tears spill out, but this time Steve really looks exhausted, beyond the capability to have a good cry again.

Danny sniffles and turns his head into his dry shoulder, wiping his own tears away.

“What about dinner?” Danny asks, with a slightly cheerful tone, tapping his shoulder to Steve’s.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“C’mon, dinner, TV, crap action film, cuddle on the couch?” Steve gives him a look. “SEALs get free cuddles for today only, and if they really behave, a shoulder rub.”

Steve’s lips quirk up. “Is Junior considered in that offer too?”

“Sure!” Danny jokes. “Sadly, he’s staying the night somewhere else today.”

“Sadly.”

“Mmm.” Danny agrees, sneaking a hand into Steve’s thigh and squeezing lightly. “Brought Indian from that place you like.”

“The one with the cats?”

“Of course, the one with the cats. I’ve got you covered, babe.”


	7. Recovery + Numb + Shaky Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's missing and they find his truck at the bottom of the ocean, near a pier. Danny witnesses the recovery.
> 
> (Danny!Whump, established relationship).

His lower lip quivers as the diving team hooks the truck onto the lines and the crane begins pulling in the steel cables. He’s cold to the bone, but also aware the problem isn’t the chilly breeze that blows past them every now and then. He crosses his arms tighter over his chest, bracing for the important part of the recovery operation unfolding in front of his eyes.

Grover, sensing his distress, squeezes his shoulder and slowly lifts his arm, going for the half hug, but Danny shakes him off, affronted by the gesture of comfort.

He steps closer to the railing, to get a better look. A fierce mantra going over and over inside his head. Steve’s alive. Steve’s not there. Steve’s alive. Steve’s not there.

The lines on the crane finally tense up and there’s a noticeable movement under the water that builds and builds, until the Silverado’s rear bumper breaks through the surface.

Danny scoffs.

“Motherfucker,” he whispers, beyond his control. “Hook the front first and save me the misery.”

_Steve’s alive. Steve’s not there. Steve’s alive. Steve’s not there._

Grover twitches, now next to Danny, holding onto the railing as well, though this time, he doesn’t offer any sort of comfort.

_Steve’s alive. Steve’s not there. Steve’s alive. Steve’s not there._

The water pours from under the doors and the wheels as they slowly lift the Silverado out of the water. There’s a shattered back seat window and a whole tire is missing. The toolbox behind is open and picked clean. Algae hangs and tangles up everywhere.

The mantra goes louder inside his head, until it becomes and angry desperate buzz.

_Alive. Not there. Alive. Not there. Alive. Alive. Alive._

The front of the truck is pulled out of the water with a loud splashing sound. The windshield is shattered as well and a whole pool of sea water pours out, fish and all. But no Steve.

Danny almost faints from the relief.

He blinks rapidly, holding for dear life to the rail, suddenly so close to it, it’s painfully digging into this body. His mouth fills with saliva, but he bows to not break his streak, swallowing thickly. And fails.

He ends up spilling he’s meagre breakfast of two cups of coffee over the deck and partly into the ocean.

“Well, you know what they say, man, better out than…” Grover trails off.

Danny swipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns around, ready to take some heat from Grover, and then give some shit back, their manly way of lifting each other’s spirits under the circumstances. He almost faints again.

“Steve,” he says on an exhale, “you’re here, you’re alive.”

Steve smiles a slow easy smile and cards his fingers through Danny’s hair, pulling slightly at the rumpled blond curl on his nape.

“No, I’m not, look again.” He nods towards the Silverado, which now dangles from the steel cable like a caught fish.

Danny’s stomach drops and the world turns around him, there, on the cabin of the truck, hangs Steve’s body, still strapped to the seat by the belt.

An encompassing numbness overtakes him, like an oppressing figure that surreptitiously steals his breath away. His hands start to shake, and he falls back onto the deck, unable to look away from Steve’s lifeless body. 

_“Hey, Danny, Danno, wake up, babe, you’re having a nightmare.”_

Danny sucks up air like he was dying.

In a way he was.

“Heeeey, take a deep breath, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

Steve cards his fingers through Danny’s hair, coming to rest it over Danny’s neck, squeezing lightly.

Danny nods, trying to shake the nightmare away. The smell of the ocean, the cold.

He breathes deeply and regularly, taking comfort in the sleepy environment around him. Steve’s faded cologne. The soft scritch-scratch of the covers against his legs.

“You good?” Steve’s voice comes as a rasp; he must’ve been fast asleep.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Come here,” Steve says, with open arms.

Danny doesn’t have to think it twice, already melting at Steve’s side, enjoying his warmth.

After a while his heart slows down to something more acceptable.

As he’s about to fall asleep, Steve interrupts his plans. “I love you.”

Danny smiles. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been fun, but I'm all prompted out. 
> 
> I managed 13 official prompts in 7 stories, but squeezed in 8 more here and there, so I'll consider it a win, especially since I hadn't written in well over a year!!!
> 
> Thank you all for reading and taking the time to kudos and or comment, seriously appreciated <3
> 
> PS: chapter 7 undisclosed prompts were, nightmare, waterlogged and breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are ❤️


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